


Until They're Better

by morganichele



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M, QAF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganichele/pseuds/morganichele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A partial rewrite of episode 7, season 3 (directly after the breakup with Ethan).  Hurt/comfort</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until They're Better

"Fucking egotistical prick. Asshole piece of shit." The words kept tumbling out of Justin's mouth as he stormed down the street. His hands were bundled in his pockets and he was shivering. It was still cold out, and he was alone.

Up ahead, he saw the lights from Liberty Avenue, and he nearly turned and went in the other direction. A sharp gust of wind changed his mind, however, and while he bypassed the diner, he went into Woody's. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it over the back of a stool before climbing on and ordering himself a drink.

The bartender didn't blink an eye as he set the double shot down in front of him. _Everyone_ knew Justin, and they wouldn't refuse him service.

The liquor was sharp and warm as it went down, and he sighed in pure pleasure as he felt himself warm from the inside.

Another ten minutes or so passed, and Justin looked down at his hands. The sight of them surprised him. Discolored with bruising and blood, ripped and torn from the thorns of the roses, his hands looked like they'd went a round with a roll of barbed wire...and lost. Really _seeing_ the wounds brought the pain into an unpleasant reality and he hissed as a drop of alcohol from his glass slid down the side of the glass and onto his palm.

Walking over to see if he needed anything, the bartender followed Justin's gaze and winced in sympathy. "Shit, man. That looks like it stings. You need some band-aids or something?"

The blood was already dried, and he shook his head, swallowing hard. 

His _hands_. The pain morphed and he couldn't grip the glass anymore.

Getting up abruptly, he dropped some money on the table and left, banging into a tall body as he moved to exit the front door.

"Excuse me-" He looked up. _Shit._

"Justin?" Brian's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before his classic smirk covered his face. "Shouldn't you be at home? Being serenaded like all good married boys do?"

Justin Taylor was smart, he was tough, and he was a fighter. But, his _hands_ were bloody and hurt. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold a pencil, much less a paintbrush, for days, and he felt like a fool. "Fuck you."

Brian's eyes sharpened a bit and he looked past Justin's head to something...some _one_. "Not tonight, Sunshine. I've got someone else in mind."

Shaking his head, Justin pushed past him, his eyes hot as they threatened to well over.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------

 

Brian moved over to the bar, looking where the bartender was cleaning up. "Hey, Tommy."

"Brian." The bartender had a pleasant smile on his face. Brian had fucked him a year and a half ago, and they remained pleasant toward one another. "How you doing tonight, man? It's cold as fuck out there."

"I'm good," Brian replied before placing his order.

"It's a shame about the kid," Tommy said conversationally.

Feigning disinterest, Brian looked at him with his best 'I'm bored as fuck' expression. When the man didn't continue, Brian rolled his eyes and started to look away.

"I just mean...his hands. He's an artist or some shit, right?"

Fear shot through Brian's chest, and he bit down on the inside of his mouth to keep it from showing on his face. What was wrong with Justin's hands? Where the tremors too bad? Was he not taking his medicine? Had things gotten worse? "He's an artist," Brian managed to say. "What's wrong with his hands?"

The guy shrugged. "Fuck if I know. They were all torn up, bloody. I doubt he'll be able to do much artsy shit for a while."

Standing up abruptly, Brian moved to the door and stepped outside. Looking both ways, he saw no sign of Justin. "Shit."

He got in the 'Vette and began circling.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 

Justin walked for maybe an hour before a pair of headlights began to slow down next to him. His spine stiff, he turned slightly and nearly groaned aloud when he saw Brian's head pop out of the driver's side. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Get in the car."

"Fuck off." Justin turned away and started walking again.

" _Get_ in the fucking _car_ , Justin. _Now_." Justin had no doubt that Brian would come over and drag his ass into the car if he didn't comply. Growling out a string of profanities, Justin whirled around and moved over to the door. He was grateful when Brian leaned over and opened the door for him, since it left him free to conceal his hands in his pockets.

"I'm not lost, asshole."

"Shut up." Brian didn't say another word as he drove them to his loft. He got out of the car and bounded around to Justin's side, opening the door as Justin attempted to fumble with the handle.

Justin shoved his hands back into his pockets and got out, following him up the stairs and into the loft. "What do you want, Brian?"

"What happened?"

Oh, _hell_ no. There was no way Justin was confiding in _Brian_ about Ethan's betrayal. Not after what Justin had done. Fuck that. He was humiliated enough, thanks. "Nothing."

"Bullshit. Show me your hands."

_Fucking Tommy, the loudmouthed piece of shit._ "You've got two of your own. If you want to jack off, feel free." His voice dripped with anger.

Brian had obviously had enough. Storming over, he yanked Justin's hands out of his pockets and held them carefully around his wrists.

Though it hurt like hell, Justin curled his hands into loose fists, concealing the worst of the damage.

Brian's eyes locked onto his. "That was stupid."

It was. Justin knew it. It was going to hurt like hell to straighten his hands back out, and to make matters worse, his right hand was beginning to shake. Brian looked down and loosened his grip.

"What happened?"

"Karma," Justin answered with a blank face.

Brian studied his eyes for several moments, then led him over to the sink and turned the water on warm. "This is going to feel like shit."

He knew, and he slid his hands under the water anyway, hissing. His fingers slowly opened, revealing his torn palms and fingers.

"Fuck, Sunshine." Brian's voice was soft and quiet, and unexpectedly tender. The water washed away the dried blood, and opened several of the larger wounds. Brian's thumbs rubbed soothing circles onto his wrists.

Neither one of them said anything as Brian tended to his hands. He applied some Neosporin carefully, then wrapped his hands with soft bandages.

"You won't be able to go to your classes like this," Brian finally said. He sounded tired.

"I know," Justin said, equally as exhausted. He didn't know what to say.

Brian undressed him carefully, taking care not to brush his hands. He walked Justin over to the bed and pulled back the covers. "Get in."

The bed was just as he remembered it. Soft and clean and familiar. His eyes wanted to close, but he kept them open, watching as Brian took off his shirt and pants, then climbed in behind him. He felt the warmth of Brian's body as the man pushed himself up against his back. A warm arm wrapped around his waist, keeping him close, and Justin could feel the man's face in his hair. "I'll go in the morning."

"You can stay until your hands are better."

Justin's eyes _did_ slide shut then. "They're never going to be better," he whispered.

The wounds would heal, but no...they'd never truly be _better_. Not the way he wanted them both to be.

"So, stay until they're better."

Justin blinked, sure he'd misheard. He attempted to turn over, and huffed out a breath when Brian's arm kept him where he was. "Brian-"

"I missed you."

"I fucked up."

"I don't care."

He knew he didn't deserve it...not after he'd felt the way he had tonight. He _knew_ he didn't deserve it. At the moment, however, he didn't care either.

Relaxing into Brian's body, he sighed. "Okay."

A soft kiss was placed in his hair, and he drifted off, surrounded by the smell of home.


End file.
